The other Sato I was chilling in Cactus. My skinny butt was perched precariously on a bar stool as I sipped my Tusker baridi as per kawa while I watched a Premier League match between Man. U and Southampton disinterestedly. I hate Man. U bro. I mean, why would those clowns want to win every damn English title?

Anyway back to my storo – my Tusker had started to ingia my system and my mind embarked on those lager-induced intelligence flashes. I mean, but do I say!, ain’t we all kind of intellectually stunted (wacha, if you think you are intelligent why don’t you invent something moto, like a TV that has scents with the picture) and emotionally blackrupt. Ngoja, this baby with some serious bootie ingiad the pub and proceeded to sit on a bar stool right next to me (shit I almost whoooooped out loud). The jamaas in the pub were all shamelessly gawking.

Baby had bootie and she knew it.

Well, she panda’d the barstool as gracefully as a mbuta swimming and guess what gentlemen? She was wearing a thong – si ulevi, ni ukweli. Yanii you could see the whole damn sexy thing peeping proudly above her jeans waistline, I almost fell of my stool and sobered up in a rush. I gave her a brief accelerated detailed examination, now, the works, yanii checked out her hooters, her tummy (flat) her hips, her toes (aha don’t you hate twisted toes that suggest that jiggers once ruled there?), her face and the works … aha… baby had an Alicia keys imitation hairstyle too (now, I have this Alicia keys pathological obsession/ fixation, that is another story)

Well, it was time for JFP (Jango Floss Power). I pulled my battered cell phone out of my pocket and made poseur calls to my brother explaining to him loudly for all and sundry to hear that I had decided to sell my battered Toyota Corolla and was finally gonna buy that BMW coupe we had seen at the Nyayo Stadium car bazaar last Sunday (My bro was absolutely flummoxed, yaani a guy didn’t know what the hell a jingo was talking about!).

Anyway, after hanging up and placing the cell conspicuously on the table, I ordered a Tusker JUG, a guy had defected from bottle to jug in a flash. Next stop bought a packet of Embassy and placed it on the table (don’t even smoke, just in case baby did, u dig? Hell!) Relax na mambo badoo, JFP still on, I paid for the whole shit with a crisp 1000 bob note, you know that one that never leaves your wallet except for such situations? Even though I had enough small change and coins to feed 10 street kids, then proceeded to tip the barman too( how many times do you do that in NBI?). Alafu I chewed the pose, you know the one where you look like you aren’t the least bit interested and are looking at everything and anything BUT HER yet you are drooling at her through the corner of your eye? U gitch?

Hebu a Jango was on top. Time for the games to begin, I hauled my butt of my stool and asked her could she politely watch my stool and other shit for me? Going to the gents briefly, baby smiled and said sawa, no problem.

Rushed to the loo, checked out my face in the mirror, si mbaya. Next checked my teeth just in case some sukuma wiki was stuck between my molars, si mbaya. Went to the urinal, pivoted my left buttock and unleashed a loud and satisfying mshuto (stop flossing, kwani u don’t do that?), took a leak and zipped up. Took that ki-emergency ka-small sample bottle of Polo sport cologne I got from Dubai duty free and splashed it on then hoofed it hurriedly upstairs. Maneno si mbaya so far, baby has turned her stool and is now facing my empty stool, okay, but do I say, progress!

So I panda my stool and proceed to complete fishing, the bait that has been swallowed, now to reel mbuta. So what is your name baby? Would you like a drink? Hold on, here comes the shit now! Kwanza the baby has a deep rural Okuyu accent, you know the one where the Rs and Ls are kabisa interchanged. Oh no! I can live with that, you are fine girl! Next, okay baby, what do you do day to day? Fake coy smile. Hakuna I am just there in the digs, AHA!.

Read: Idler, vagabond, lay about, loser, pigeon. I mean, please, can’t you at least go to college if you can’t get a jobo and do any course just for the sake of the CV, like I learn French for instance? (Now how would that change the number of sufurias of ugali that you eat? Except make your CV acceptable.)

Okay, I ask, what are your qualifications baby, yaani I sympathize coz there are no jobs in Kenya. I fika’d form two in Kiamirithi girls school (mimi sijui huko ni wapi, usiniulize!). What? For real, okay.

By the way all this time a jango’s interest is slowly diminishing. Usishau!

Okay, so baby what do you think about the Constitutional Review Commission of Prof. Yash Pal Ghai? She gave me a blank dumb stare, she probably thought that was one of the explorers who discovered Africa, AKA Livingstone. What about the elections, who do you fancy? Another brief hesitation, and then a quick smile like a bulb has just lit in her head – Moi of course, well, a subtle reminder from yours truly that constitutionally he cannot run again, baby is bewildered. Okay I ask, what do you think about the September 11 events in the NYC? Baby is completely flummoxed, apparently she is the only person in the world who never watched the events unfold on CNN or at least listened to the radio – what about even reading the Nation? Hell no! Baby was probably in the salon fixing her hair or sitting in the loo.

The whole time I was getting disinterested.

So what are your goals in life? Here comes the response, I could have sworn I could see it coming ….. I want to go to Stato- shit! To do what? It ain’t a public toilet for any Njoki, Njeri and Jennifer to slither to. Okay, maintaining social etiquette and moral decorum, I ask instead, so how do you intend to achieve that, know the visa requirements? No, my homy will panga for me. I almost wept. Sheeesh. Are these the kind of clowns we export to be our cultural ambassadors?

Anyway, it was time for a hasty retreat, I hurriedly told her that I needed to pick some things from the car and would be back in 5 mins… I sacrificed the half jug of my beloved Tusker that had bakia’d and hightailed it out of there. I quickly jumped into my moti and drove off in a hail of dust headed towards Kengeles on Koinange street.

I sat on yet another bar stool in Kengeles, ordered yet another Tusker baridi as per kawa and continued with my musings, while looking around for any interesting babies.

What is a beautiful woman? Is it the one who looks good on the outside but is a total empty shell o the inside, a certified dunderhead who cannot tell the difference between shit and pudding? Would you rather have an Alicia Keys duplicate with ugali for brains or an Alek Wek (don’t be ignorant, she is one famous ugly model from Sudan) look alike who is studying for her Ph.D. while working part time with some HIV-related NGO as a volunteer?

Well me I postulate that when you are taking care of your business… But do I say, you are not just rarua-ring the bootie but you are also rarua-ring the mind.

I mean, wouldn’t you feel like a true jogoo if you raruad Condoleeza Rice?